


the whole damn world went and lost its mind

by everqueen



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: blame the tfw discord tbh, we started talking about lucretia taking the voidfish around pre-BoB days and, well eight thousand words later here we are, yeah this is written in second person don't @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everqueen/pseuds/everqueen
Summary: You're an innkeeper, and you've Seen Some Shit.(title from "Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea" by Fall Out Boy)





	1. Chapter 1

You’re an innkeeper, and you’ve Seen Some Shit.

Your little inn in your little town is on the Sword Coast, supposedly far enough north of Neverwinter to be quiet, far enough inland to avoid traders and pirates, not close enough to any of the major Woods to be a particular target for marauders or, gods forbid, adventurers. You still get a steady stream of travelers, sure, keeps the gold flowing, but not many parties.

There used to be a lot more, not too long ago.

Everyone hyped up, arming themselves, lots of people disappearing from the town with barely a goodbye or one last drink. Most of them didn’t come back, and didn’t that just kill the ones left behind.

And then one day it all… stopped.

Things just seemed to settle, all of a sudden. Youngsters stopped going off to… whatever it was they had been going off to go do, armies stopped marching through town demanding beer and ale and harassing your staff, your weekly vegetable shipment from Old Jordan’s farm resumed with barely a skip.

Things are about as back to normal as they can be.

Your best bartender, Brad, has come back, rather sheepishly, after admitting he’s not quite sure _why_ he ran off to join… something, but he’d like his job back if possible, please and thank you.

You shrug, and give him his job back.

He’s the best bartender you’ve ever had, and everyone runs off to do something stupid every so often.

There’s less people to serve, sure, but the trickle of travelers on the road grows back to the usual stream and business is just fine.

And then people start disappearing again.

It’s not like whatever it was that was going on before, where people were leaving in droves to go do… whatever, but more like individuals disappearing on walks and from fields. You frown, and restrict Shell to the area just around your inn. They’re not happy about it, complaining that they really wanted to go to market this week, but you stand firm. They’re always liable to get themselves in trouble, and you don’t want to risk them. You go yourself, taking the twins, Marlee and Marilyn, with you.

The market isn’t as busy as it used to be, although Charm at the apothecary stand is there, as always. She didn’t leave even during the… something, that was going on. The half-elf waves at you cheerfully as you maneuver through the marketplace. You give Marlee and Marilyn the list and bid them stay together as you head over to the stand.

“Hi!” Charm says brightly. Her hair is auburn this week, bound back in some complicated braids. “How’s business?”

“The usual,” you say, waving a hand casually and looking over her stock. She’s got everything but her usual cold medicine, that space conspicuously empty on her cart. “How’re things? No chest salve this week?”

Her face falls. “Sorry, did you need some?”

“No, no,” you say hastily. “You usually keep that in stock, that’s all.”

Her frown shifts to a scowl. “Can’t get out to the arrowroot patch,” she says grumpily. “Something’s blocking it. I sent out Mathias and he never came back, and when I went out there myself, there was some _magic_ blocking it.”

“Magic?” you say, interest warring with concern over the missing Mathias. “What kind of magic?”

“Some shield or something,” Charm says, crossing her arms. “And I still don’t know where Mathias is. He probably ran home cause he thought he could get out of work.”

“Hopefully,” you say thoughtfully. “You heard of anyone else missing?”

“Yeah, a few,” Charm says, eyeing you. “Why?”

“Dunno,” you shrug, deciding it’s not your problem. “Come by for a pint or two, yeah?”

“Sure,” Charm says, wrapping up your usual herbs.

You bid each other goodbye as you go off to find Marlee and Marilyn. At least the latter doesn’t take you long.

“She’s gone!”

Not two minutes after you set about looking, Marilyn comes tearing out between the stalls, panicked and panting. It takes a few minutes to get her to calm down enough after her initial outburst, but Charm brings over a calming tea and you eventually get the story out of her.

They had bought everything on the list quick – Marlee was always efficient – and then joined the other youngsters not far from the edge of the wood. It’s no Wood, they should have been fine, but Marilyn tells of a mysterious figure, tall and robed and carrying a white staff, standing among the trees, watching the kids play. Marlee, seeing the fear in the younger kids, had gone to confront the figure, standing in front of everyone, hands on her hips, and yelling for it to go away.

Marilyn shivers around her tea, staring down.

“We dunno what happened next,” she confesses. “She wasn’t even close to it! But I just blinked, and she was gone!”

“I see,” you say grimly. “Back to the inn.”

“But we gotta go after her!” Marilyn says indignantly. “That’s my sister!”

“ _You_ are not doing anything but staying in the inn,” you tell her firmly. You clamp a hand on her shoulder and steer her back to the inn over her protests.

You both enter the inn to mild chaos.

More than the usual mild chaos, anyway.

Shell is on top of the bar, sword out in a protective stance, while Brad carefully moves the various bottles out of the way. The local patrons are ringed around the edges of the main room, watching the center carefully. A few nod to you as you walk in, but mostly their attention is focused on the confrontation going on in the center.

There’s a young woman standing there, with buzzed white hair bright against her dark skin. She’s exhausted, clearly, her travel-stained red robe hanging loose on her narrow frame. She’s tossed back the hood to confront the angry man in front of her, one strong hand clamped down on her bleeding forearm, golden eyes sharp in her drawn face. She stands alone, unarmed as far as you can tell, although there’s some sort of tank behind her that she’s in front of, protective. You can’t quite tell what’s in the tank, although when you squint, you see a gnome man crouched next to it, watching with fear writ large on his features.

The man facing her isn’t a local, which you’re mildly proud of, considering his hate-filled face and the bloody dagger he holds. He might be drunk, for all that it’s the middle of the day, and he looks ready to kill the young woman.

“What exactly is going on here?” you say, voice ringing through the sudden silence as you enter. You enunciate every word, narrowing your eyes at both of them in the center of the room.

“Boss, you’re back!” Shell says.

“I apologize,” the woman says carefully, and for all her youth, her voice is that of a leader, strong and measured and so very, very tired. “I’ll just be going, then.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” the man spits, threatening her with the dagger again. “Not until you give me back my wand.”

“It’s not your wand,” the woman snaps, and now you notice the slim wooden wand in the hand attached to the bleeding arm. “Just because it happens to look like one you lost doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

“He just attacked her when she was sitting at the bar!” Shell calls.

“Quiet!” the man snaps, not taking his eyes off the young woman.

“It’s true,” Brad offers mildly from behind the bar.

“No one asked you, _orc_.”

“That’s enough,” you say coldly. You cast Zone of Truth with a click of your tongue, and judging by the confused look on the man’s face, he failed his save.

But the woman’s reaction is interesting. She blinks, a few times, and for just a moment, her face crumples, impossible sorrow written deep on her features. She takes a deep breath and smooths her face again, and meets your eyes.

This woman, you think, has faced lifetimes of trouble and come out the other side standing tall and unafraid.

She would make a good innkeeper.

“Now,” you say, putting those thoughts aside for the moment. “What. Happened.”

“Saw her at the bar,” the man says, every word a struggle. His eyes widen as he speaks, seemingly against his will. “Her wand looks a lot like the one I lost years ago. Didn’t like the way she was lookin at me.”

“Did you cut her arm?”

“Yes,” the man grunts out. “What did you do to me?”

“And you,” you look back at the woman, who hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you cast the spell, her expression calm and still. “Did you steal his wand?”

“No,” she says flatly, and you know by her steady gaze that not only did she succeed on her save, but that she’s a lot more powerful than she looks. Even so, you sense she’s telling the truth.

“Well then,” you say. “You,” and you point at the man. “Get out of my inn.”

“What?” the man yells, pointing his bloody dagger at you now. “How dare you—”

Your eyes flicker to Brad and he nods, casting Calm Emotions with ease. The man, somehow, succeeds on this particular save, and it only seems to make him angrier. He starts for you, clenching the dagger, but he only gets a few steps before the young woman intercepts, fist hard as iron driving into his side. He doubles over with a grunt and she slams her elbow down on his back, knocking him to the floor, the dagger flying out of his hand.

Her expression hasn’t changed.

You nod to her as you grab the man by his collar and thrust him out the door, throwing him to the ground.

“Don’t come back,” you say, and shut the door on his pained groaning. You turn to face the woman again, who has put her hand back on her still-bleeding arm, the blood flowing faster now after she took down the man.

She meets your eyes again, and you see pain flaring briefly before her face smooths over again.

“I’ll go,” she says quickly, and now her voice sounds as young as her face looks, so much younger than those eyes. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Sit down,” you say as you walk towards the bar, waving her towards a stool.

“I, uh—”

“Come on,” you say as gently as you can, risking a careful hand on her non-injured shoulder. She stiffens under your touch but doesn’t attack, allowing you to guide her to the bar again. She turns and nudges the tank behind her along with her foot until it rests against the bar, at a place where she can easily stand in front of. At the same time, she coaxes the gnome forward, speaking in a soft voice. He slips a hand into the crook of her elbow and follows, eyeing you nervously. Behind you, the regulars go back to their tables, muffled conversations starting up again, several of them openly watching you until Shell glares.

Shell doesn’t get off the bar, instead scooting down a few feet until they’re next to Brad, both of them watching the woman intently. She sits with a tired sigh, staring down at the slash on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Not your fault,” Shell says. “That guy was an ass.”

“Let me see your arm?” Brad asks carefully. She looks up at him with a start as you round the bar, pulling out clean rags and the first aid kit. She nods and he takes her arm with gentle hands, inspecting the cut.

“We’re gonna need to call Emi,” you say gruffly, eyeing the wound. “That’ll need stitches.”

“No!” the woman blurts out. “I, uhhh, I mean,” she shrinks back again for a moment as you all look at her. “I mean,” she begins again, straightening her spine. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it myself.”

“Are you a bard?” Brad asks, with some interest. “Or a cleric?”

“A paladin, maybe?” Shell suggests.

“No, not exactly,” the woman says, with a humorous twist to her mouth.

“Do you know any healing spells?” you ask, getting to the point. “Or do you know anyone who does?”

She closes her eyes, the humor disappearing. “No,” she says dully. “Not anymore.” Her hand drifts over to cover the gnome’s, squeezing it gently.

“Well then,” you say, waving Brad’s hand away and replacing it with a clean rag, applying pressure to the slash. “We’ll call Emi.”

“Who is—”

“The doctor,” Shell provides. “She knows healing spells, but they don’t work for everything.”

“I know,” the woman says wearily. “That, I know.”

“Right,” you say after an awkward silence. “Shell?”

“I’m on it.”

They hop off the counter and make for the door, while you look back at the woman. “What should we call you?”

She looks up at that, seeming surprised for some reason. “I’m sorry?”

“Your name,” you clarify, wondering when this woman last slept.

“Oh.” She stares down at her arm, moving your hand away and placing pressure on it herself. She seems much more flabbergasted by a request for a name than she should be, but you shrug at Brad’s confused glance and just wait. All sorts come through your inn, after all. Not your place to judge.

“Lucretia,” she says finally. “My name is Lucretia.”

“Sure,” you say. “Lucretia. And your… gnome friend?”

“Oh,” she says, so softly you almost think you imagined it. “Davenport. His name is Davenport.”

The gnome waves warily with the hand not clutching Lucretia’s arm.

“I’ll show you both to a room while we wait for Emi.”

“Yes, I—” she takes another deep breath. “Thank you. Oh! My… my tank. I need to keep that with me at all times.”

“This?” you ask critically, bending down to stare at the tank of water between Lucretia’s legs. That ball of static is still in there, and it seems to be moving. “What _is_ it?”

“Um,” she says eloquently. “It’s, um.”

“A thing,” you say dryly, offering her your arm. “A pet?”

“Of a sort,” she says, relieved at your offering.

“Don’t let it break anything,” you say with another shrug.

She nods and takes your arm as she gets off the stool, wincing as it jars her wounded arm. She’s slow, going up the stairs, and you wonder again when she last slept. She’s too tired to object you bringing her weird static pet up the stairs. Davenport stays next to her, small hands supporting her as you show them to the front upstairs room. Luckily, Emi doesn’t live far, and she’s already knocking at the door by the time you have them settled. Brad waves her up the stairs and you let her in.

“What happened?” Emi says, letting her bag thump onto the bedside table, hands on her hips as she surveys the tired woman on the bed, eyes zeroing in on her arm.

“Drunk asshole at the bar cut me with a knife,” Lucretia says, short and to the point.

“Uh-huh,” Emi says briskly, opening her bag. “Shame that Brian went gallivanting off, huh, Keeper?”

“Brian?” Lucretia asks, eyes flying open.

“Sure,” you say. “Dark elf, came through with his sister and settled for a while. He knew some healing spells, was real into spiders.”

“Right,” Lucretia says, lips wobbling slightly before she clamps them shut.

You exchange a glance with Emi, knowing that neither of you missed _that_ curious reaction, but you just shrug and call for Brad to bring up the vodka. He does and Emi carefully pours some on a clean rag to help disinfect the wound.

Through the cleaning and stitching, Lucretia sits ramrod straight, barely wincing, her golden eyes staring into the middle distance until Emi pronounces her done. You pretend not to notice how her fingers tremble, even when Davenport slips his hand into hers.

“Leave that alone for at least a week,” she instructs, staring at Lucretia until the woman looks her in the eyes. “No more bar fights.”

“As you say,” Lucretia deadpans. “At least, not without collecting bets first.”

You snort, Emi pressing her lips together to suppress a smile. Lucretia almost smiles before her face narrows into concern. You don’t miss her glance towards her weird tank pet, although she pastes on a fake smile a moment later.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow, don’t worry.”

Emi purses her lips, hands on hips again as she stands over the young woman. “No,” she decides.

“No?” Lucretia echoes, eyebrows rising.

“No?” you ask, feeling your eyebrows mimic hers, both of you looking at the doctor.

“Davenport?” the gnome asks, looking between you all.

There’s a brief silence before Emi takes over again.

“No,” Emi repeats. “You’re gonna stay until the stitches come out.”

“I can’t,” Lucretia says immediately. “I have, I’m, I need to—”

“You need to rest,” Emi interrupts. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I, um—”

“Davenport,” Davenport says, more firmly this time. He’s nodding at Emi, who nods back after a moment of hesitation. He pats Lucretia’s uninjured arm until she looks at him, and you think that this gnome is probably a whole lot smarter than his vocal capabilities might indicate. Lucretia meets his eyes and her face crumples again, like it did when you cast Zone of Truth, and she abruptly buries her face in her hands.

You and Emi exchange glances again, you with your eyebrows raised. You have a silent conversation, before Emi rolls her eyes and crosses to the bed, encircling Lucretia’s thin shoulders in a tight hug. Davenport leans against her, nodding at Emi again, and the doctor holds her until Lucretia relaxes into the hug, shoulders shaking.

You nod awkwardly and duck out, grabbing the vodka as you go, glancing again at the woman’s weird static pet, which… hums?

Weird.

You decide it’s none of your business, shrug, and head down the stairs, Marlee’s disappearance coming back to the forefront of your mind. It’s going to have to be dealt with, one way or another.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucretia is down at the bar far earlier than you expected, given her clear exhaustion the day before. The young woman is listening to Marilyn tell the same story she had told you yesterday, about Marlee’s disappearance. Her face is tight, eyebrows drawn over narrowed golden eyes. She glances at you as you sit next to Marilyn.

Marilyn finishes her story and runs off to do chores, after a pointed glance from you, linking arms with Shell as she goes. You made it a rule, after yesterday, that no one goes about alone, and the younger ones don’t leave the inn’s grounds. You don’t know much about this mysterious figure with the staff, but you figure it won’t dare come onto your land.

Lucretia looks tired, rubbing her temples slowly, wincing as the movement pulls on her stitches. You watch her thoughtfully, sipping at your morning tea as Brad brings her another mug of his strongest coffee (strong enough to, quite literally, wake the dead. It was a gift, of a sort, from a particularly enterprising necromancer in blue jeans who had come through not long before. He left soon after, pursued by an angry dark-skinned man with the most handsome face you’d ever seen, but Brad kept the stock he had already given them. You haven’t tried it on anyone yet, but then, no one has died recently, that you remember).

“Do you know anything about this?” you ask finally as she downs the entire mug in one go, holding out the empty mug to a stunned Brad, smiling faintly.

That faint smile disappears as she processes your question. She eyes you thoughtfully as Brad goes to bring her another mug, deciding, you guess, whether or not to trust you. You mentally shrug at the thought. It’s no skin off your nose if she does or doesn’t, but you care about Marlee.

“Yes,” she says finally, wearily. “I fear they have… something that I’ve been searching for. It’s very important that I get it back.”

“Okay,” you say with a shrug. “They’ve been taking people.”

“Not just Marlee?” she asks sharply.

“No,” you say, inhaling the aroma of your tea while Brad brings her another cup of coffee. You raise an eyebrow as she raises the cup. “Might want to slow down on that.”

She raises an eyebrow right back and gulps down half of it, which you suppose is a victory, of a sort. “It’s good coffee,” she says dryly. “Reminds me of an old friend’s. He used to joke it was enough to wake the dead.”

“So did the guy who gave us that,” you say, nodding at the mug in her hands.

“Well, hot diggity shit,” she deadpans. “He’s not wrong. Anything else you can tell me?”

“I don’t know about the figure,” you tell her. “But our apothecary tells me that something is blocking some of her herbs. A magical shield of some sort, she said.”

Lucretia’s head snaps up at that, eyes widening. And then that determination you saw the day before comes back to stay, hardening her features. You note her hands clenching around the mug a few seconds before her grip shatters it.

“Oh!” she says, jumping slightly as coffee spills all over the table. “I’m sorry, I—”

You shrug and cast Mending with a whistle, offering her napkins for the coffee spilled over her tunic. “I take it that means something to you,” you say dryly as she dabs at the stain.

“Yes,” she says, golden eyes flat again. Her entire body is screaming tension, and you lean back and wave a worried Brad away. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

“Take care of what?” you ask patiently.

“The figure with the staff,” she says. “And the… shield.”

“Why?” you ask. “What is this to you?”

She pins you with a stare, and you think again that this woman has lived lifetimes longer than her face would suggest. “It’s my responsibility,” she says finally.

My fault, she doesn’t say, but it lingers in the air all the same.

You rest your elbows on the table, watching her thoughtfully as you sip your tea. “Well then,” you say when you’ve set your mug down again. “Alright.”

Her fingers uncurl the slightest amount, some of the tension draining away, and you guess she might have thought you were going to stop her. You tilt your head slightly, still watching her.

“But I’m going with you,” you say.

“What?” she says, at the same time as Brad, who has been hovering closer than you would like, worried as he is.

“Marlee is my responsibility,” you say patiently, ignoring Brad wringing the rag to bits between his hands, and the coolness in Lucretia’s eyes. “I want to make sure she’s alright. Besides,” and you nod at her arm. “You want to let that heal a bit more before you go seeking out another fight. My guess is that this one will be a mite tougher than a drunk man who thinks you stole his wand.”

She takes a deep breath. “I can’t ask—”

“You’re not,” you say calmly. “Nor am I. I think you could use some backup anyway.” You nod towards the window, where you can all hear Marilyn and Shell chattering away as they haul pails of water into the stables. “No one goes about alone.”

She stares you down for a moment before sighing. She leans forward, heedless of her stitches. “It will be dangerous,” she warns. “More so than you can imagine.”

You shrug. “I’ve faced danger before.” You let a smile slip out. “I’m an innkeeper.”

She considers you for a moment more before her face breaks into the loveliest smile you’ve ever seen. It lights up her face, taking some of those hard years away. Her eyes are still determined, even more so now, perhaps, as she reaches across the table and clasps your hand.

“Alright then,” she says. “Perhaps you… perhaps this time it will be different. What do I call you?”

You shrug again, her callused, scarred hand warm in yours. “Everyone just calls me Keeper.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fortunately, Emi steps in and forces Lucretia to rest. You talk to the guarded young woman more over the week that follows, although she mostly deflects or outright refuses to answer any personal questions anyone asks her. You don’t push, except the occasional wine glass across the bar when she takes a break from her secretive preparations to come down to the bar for a drink. The usual patrons are getting used to her, many of them waving when she comes down the stairs. She had impressed them, when she took out the aggressive drunk man, and they’re starting to consider her a regular.

Brad likes her too, a lot. While you spend any time with her in companionable silence, Brad can draw her into conversation, although she still shies away from anything personal. He does bring out her enthusiasm for spellwork, fascinated by Brad’s spoken bard skills. He learns, while you’re tending the bar in his stead, that her specialty is abjuration.

“Almost like those weird shields around the herbs,” Brad says. “Wild!”

“Yes,” she says, almost deadpan but for the tightening of the skin around her eyes. Brad doesn’t notice, but you do, and she notices you noticing. She glances at you while Brad goes on about the weird shields, her gaze intense with something you don’t know how to read.

You do what you usually do: you shrug, and go back to wiping down the bar.

The shields have expanded, recently, cutting off almost all access to the woods entirely. Charm is extremely put out, given that her livelihood depends on what she can gather from the woods, but you assure her that it will be taken care of.

More people have disappeared.

None of yours, perhaps, and now even Shell obeys your restrictions of their own volition. But it’s enough to worry you, even more than when Marlee disappeared, and you catch Lucretia by her non-wounded arm as Brad goes to take inventory.

“You know more about this than you’ve said,” you say. It’s not a question, and you both know it. “Tell me this,” you say, and she lifts her chin.

“I will if I can.”

“Marlee and the others who are gone, are they okay?”

Her face softens. “They’re unlikely to be injured,” she says, a deep sadness behind her words that you can’t quite parse. “Whether they’re okay… I don’t know.”

You nod once and release her arm.

“My stitches can come out, Emi said,” Lucretia says after a few moments of silence, raising her arm. The wound is still fresh, shiny new scar tissue having replaced the ugly slash thanks to Emi’s neat stitching. “I’m ready when you are.”

You nod again and go behind the bar, drawing Brad’s attention.

“Brad,” you say, retrieving the club you haven’t used in decades, yet still kept up after all this time. “Keep an eye on the bar.”

“And Davenport, please,” Lucretia puts in. “He likes you.”

Brad straightens at that, rolling his shoulders. “Okay,” he says simply. He looks at you. “You’re going to be okay, boss?”

“Yes,” you say. “Don’t let the younger ones know where I’ve gone. They’ll want to come with, especially Shell, and I don’t want them underfoot.”

“Younger ones?” Brad asks, looking dubiously at Lucretia and the evident age difference. To your mild surprise, Lucretia smiles, grimly.

“I’m much older than I look,” she says, withdrawing the slim wooden wand. “We’re going to be just fine.”

Brad nods, and you head for the door, opening it just as Charm raises her fist to knock.

“Hello Charm,” you say. “How’re things?”

“Oh good,” the apothecary says. “You haven’t left yet.”

Lucretia glances at you. “Are you… coming with us?”

“Well, duh,” Charm says, patting the string of potions around her waist. She winks, clearly well pleased with herself. “That figure’s got _my_ business all ruined, _and_ they took my apprentice.”

“Mathias,” you supply.

“I see,” Lucretia says. She’s still looking at you. After a moment, you realize she wants your input.

“Charm can handle herself,” you say, as the half-elf beams. “Not a bad woman to have in your corner.”

“Alright then,” Lucretia says. “Let’s go.”

You head into town, Lucretia taking the lead, her stride long enough that even you need to put extra effort into keeping up. She heads straight for the nearest encroachment of shields, a shimmering, flexible blue wall, mostly translucent, clearly visible through the trees. It’s closer to town now, much closer, and this side of town is all but abandoned, people doing their best to keep themselves away from the shields and mysterious figure.

“Gotta be careful,” Charm says as Lucretia strides towards it. “They’re more powerful than any shield I’ve ever seen.”

You nod when Lucretia glances back, although both of you are surprised to see that same grim smile on her face.

“Yes, I expect they would be,” she says dryly, and turns back to the shields.

You watch, leaning on your club, as Lucretia places both palms flat against the barrier. It flexes as she touches it, and you pull Charm back behind you as it ripples. Another few moments, and you can see Lucretia’s brow furrowing as she presses against the barrier, murmuring words you can’t hear through gritted teeth.

You were right to put Charm behind you.

Another few seconds of Lucretia bearing down on the barrier, and it bursts, sending sizzling blue sparks flying out, blowing Lucretia’s red robe out from her without harm. You can’t say the same, as one lands on your arm. It burns more than you would have thought possible, and you hiss in pain as you try to bat it away.

Charm leaps in, dumping some green liquid over your arm, which soothes the burning somewhat.

Lucretia turns, eyes gleaming, a triumphant smile curving her lips, although that disappears when she sees you holding your arm.

“Are you alright?” she asks quickly, looking you over.

You shrug.

“How did you _do_ that?” Charm demands. “That thing was way too powerful for _any_ of us!”

“Well, unsurprising,” Lucretia says. “After all, ~~I made it~~.”

She’s speaking static, somehow, instead of words, and you’re a bard, technically, but you’ve never heard of anything like this before.

Charm’s grip on your arm tightens. “How are you making those sounds with your mouth?” she demands, and now there’s a little bit of fear, mixed in with the awe.

Lucretia sighs. “It’s complicated,” is all she says, and turns back towards the forest. “Are you both still coming?”

Charm looks to you, nervous now, and you pat her hand in thanks for the potion. You heft your club and walk forward to join Lucretia, meeting her eyes when she looks at you. “Let’s go,” you say, feeling Charm at your back.

Lucretia smiles tightly, although you can tell her focus is on whatever lies ahead. “Well then,” she says. “She knows we’re coming for her. Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

You move through the forest quickly, for all that, Lucretia confidently leading the way.

“Where are we going?” Charm asks after about fifteen minutes of the three of you walking through the trees.

“We’re looking for a staff,” Lucretia says carefully. “You’ll know it when you see it. I should warn you,” and she stops, placing one hand on your shoulder and one hand on Charm’s. “The staff this woman wields is a powerful magical artifact. It has a… a thrall, of a sort, that will try to convince you to claim it and wield it for yourself. You, Keeper,” and her golden eyes bore into yours. “You seem to have a tendency towards protecting others. It will call to you strongly, I think.” Her fingers tighten on your shoulder. “You _cannot_ give in to its call.”

“Ooookay,” Charm says, poking at Lucretia’s hand until the woman lets her go. “Staff might talk, don’t listen to it. Gotcha.”

Lucretia’s eyes don’t leave yours until you nod, tightening your grip on your club. She sighs, then, and turns back the way you had been walking. You doubt she knew you had such good hearing, because you definitely hear her mutter: “I just hope it’s enough.”

A few minutes of walking more, and that’s when things start to get… weird, even by your generous standards.

The air has taken on a sort of haze, tinging everything you see in shades of blue. The only things that remain vibrant are Lucretia’s eyes, still gold, and her bright crimson robe. Her fingers visibly tighten on her wand, and Charm moves closer to you, explosive potion uncorked and in her hand.

Charm sees them first.

“Oh my gods!” she cries into the curiously still air. She points, drawing your attention.

It’s Marlee.

Or you think it is, maybe.

The girl is on her feet, face turned in your direction, but limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. There’s a shimmering blue field completely surrounding her in a small bubble that forms almost perfectly to her body. Her eyes are closed, face blank, hair hanging down loose and still around her. It’s a terrifying few seconds until you can clearly tell that she’s still breathing, chest moving up and down with horrifying slowness.

You don’t need Lucretia’s gasp to see the others.

Nearly half the population of your small town, including Charm’s apprentice Mathias, are spread out among the trees, all similarly bubbled and unmoving.

This makes it more unnerving when they all slowly turn to face you.

“Ohh, I don’t like this,” Charm moans, hands moving among her bottles. “What do I got that’s not gonna hurt em?”

Lucretia presses her lips together and strides forward, the frozen bodies of the townspeople turning to follow her, and now you notice they’re drifting ever so slowly forward, towards the three of you.

“Come out!” she shouts, and you haven’t known this woman long, but you somehow doubt she often sounds so angry. “Come out and face me!”

There is silence, the floating townspeople making no noise as they drift ever closer.

And then a figure appears, moving normally, walking towards you through the trees. As it gets closer, you realize it’s a woman in a dark robe, carrying a white oak staff. Lucretia’s whole posture changes, seeing her, and her wand is already pointing at the figure before she even speaks.

Beside you, Charm is also staring, her face as blank as those of the frozen townspeople, and she slowly moves her hand back to the explosive potion.

You look at her questioningly as the woman with the staff speaks.

“It knows you,” the woman says slowly, voice almost singsong. “ ~~You _made_ it~~. It _misses_ you. Won’t you join us, Lucretia?”

The woman speaks static too, just as Lucretia had, and beside you, Charm aims her potion at Lucretia’s back. You grab Charm’s arm as Lucretia hisses, firing off a spell more powerful than anything you’ve ever sensed.

And several things happen at once.

Charm punches you in the face and throws her bottle when you reel back, surprised.

The frozen townspeople swoop forward, all intent on Lucretia, their faces still blank.

Lucretia fires more spells, faster than you can follow.

The woman screams.

The white oak staff flies out of her hand.

And stops, hovering, in front of you.

You hear the voice in your head, all else fading to the background: Charm screaming, the woman a sizzling heap on the ground, Lucretia frantically trying to talk to you, the thump of the townspeople hitting the forest floor all at once, their bonds released.

“I see,” the voice hums in your mind. “You’re like me, aren’t you?”

This makes you curious. “Am I?”

“Yes,” the voice assures you, calm and dignified. “Very much so. You want to protect people, don’t you? You care about others _so_ strongly. Well, I can help. Take me, _use me_ , and we can do that together. We can make sure nothing hurts you or the ones you love, ever again.”

You blink once, slowly, recognizing now that the voice is coming from the staff in front of you. It’s beguiling, certainly, and you can sense the power in it.

In some ways, it’s not lying.

You blink again, staring at it, and then.

You shrug.

And swing your club.

And time jolts back to regular speed, everything crashing on you at once. Charm is still screaming, hands tearing at the potions at her belt as you smack the staff directly at Lucretia, who reacts just quickly enough to snatch it out of the air. Charm’s screaming turns to a howl of rage, but you drop your club and grab her in a bear hug, holding her arms to her sides. She struggles, violently, but Lucretia seems to stare down the staff in her hand and Charm abruptly quiets, going limp in your arms, tears leaking down her face.

“Charm?” you ask cautiously, noticing the groans from the townspeople around you. You turn her towards you carefully, holding her upright. “Are you alright?”

“It was in my head,” she whispers, still crying. “Oh _gods_ , Lucretia, what did I _do_?”

“I’m fine,” Lucretia says, walking up to you. “I’m so sorry, Charm, I never thought the thrall would be so strong.” She stares at you, golden eyes impenetrable. “But you. How did you… how did you resist it?”

You shrug and sling an arm around Charm’s waist to keep her upright as you bend to pick up your club. “Are they okay?”

“The townspeople?” Lucretia says, glancing around at the groaning bodies on the forest floor. “Yes, they should be alright.”

“We’ll call for Emi anyway,” you decide.

“Keeper?” comes a small voice from behind you. You pass Charm to a startled Lucretia and turn to find Marlee, hair tossed around her face, eyes confused and scared. She’s on her knees on the ground, patting at herself as she looks up at you. “What happened?”

“Marlee,” you say, dropping down next to her, checking her for injuries. The only thing is a slight bruise on her shins from when the spell released her. “Are you okay? Do you remember what happened?”

“I don’t know,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. “There was someone creepy watching us from the woods, and I told them to go away, and then it was just—” she sniffs, leaning into you when you open your arms. “It was dark, and I was _cold_ , and there was a voice that just kept telling me I was safe? I didn’t _feel_ safe.”

“You’re okay now,” you reassure her softly. “It’s over.”

You glance up at Lucretia, eyes narrowed. She’s still supporting Charm, but she knows why you’re staring at her.

The grim look in her eyes is back.

She nods.


	5. Chapter 5

The next time you see Lucretia, she looks different.

There’s a knock on your door, late one night, almost eight months later. Brad glances up from where he’s washing glasses, but you wave him back down and go to open it.

An older woman stands in front of you, some height gone, hair longer and thinner than it was, dark skin wrinkled and worn where there were no wrinkles before.

But her eyes.

Her eyes are the same.

“‘Lo, Lucretia,” you say quietly.

Her face softens ever so slightly. “Hello again, Keeper.”

You glance past her. “You’ve made friends.”

“Oh, yes,” she nods to the young man on her left. He has dark skin, albeit not as dark as Lucretia’s, and thick curly hair springing out of a disastrous blue jester’s hat. The man looks as young as Lucretia once was, dressed in the worst stereotypes of a bard’s outfit, and has a morose downward tilt to his mouth. He’s carrying a violin case and eyeing you over doubtfully. “This is Johann,” Lucretia says.

“I’m Maureen,” the woman to her right breaks in. She’s also staring you down, rather more aggressively than the gloomy Johann. She’s got pale skin and thick black hair, bound up in a practical bun, her deep-set black eyes narrowed. She’s wearing a lab coat, stained and splattered with what looks like machine oil and other substances you can’t identify at a glance, and she has one hand up by her shoulder, either holding an invisible rope or doing a very convincing mime act with one hand. “Who are you? Lucretia, why are we here?”

“The Innkeeper will help us,” Lucretia says, still watching you.

You shrug, nod, and gesture them inside. Maureen brushes past you, although she stays by the door, her one hand still out the door, taking in the entirety of the bar area with one unimpressed glance. Johann mopes past you and sits down at the nearest table, pulling out his violin and instantly drawing Brad’s attention. Lucretia herself stares up, following the line of Maureen’s invisible rope, brow furrowed in thought.

“Your weird pet?” you ask after a few moments.

Three heads whip around to stare at you, before Lucretia remembers you’ve… well, not seen, exactly, but that you remember it from before. She relaxes, although Maureen and Johann don’t.

“Yes,” she admits. “My… pet. Has somewhat grown, since I saw you last.”

“Grown how?”

Lucretia grimaces. “Whale-sized?”

You look at her, one eyebrow slowly rising.

“It’s complicated.”

“I see,” you look up, although of course you don't, due to the invisibility. You shrug. “Don’t let it break anything.”

“Right.” She has a hushed conversation with Maureen, who does not seem to be a fan of yours, and then waves a wand, different, you note, than the one she had before, and points it up at the sky.

Brad, having vaulted the bar to try and talk bard with Johann, and apparently having been rebuffed, wanders over to you, still at the front door. “Lucretia!” he says, shocked when he realizes it’s her. “What happened?”

Lucretia’s face, relaxed when you came over, closes again. “It’s a long story,” she says grimly.

“R-right,” Brad stutters, wincing at the coldness of her tone. “Uh, where’s Davenport?”

“In the cart,” Maureen says, pointing. There is indeed a cart parked just in front of the door, which Brad had evidently not yet noticed. Nor, to be fair, did you, but you’ve been preoccupied. At Maureen’s statement, you see the gnome pop his head over the side, blinking tiredly. When he sees you and Brad, he waves delightedly.

“We just need a place to lie low for a while,” Lucretia says, one hand drifting to her torso as she winces. You glance down and see a spreading stain of dark red. You give her a quick once over and see evidence of many more wounds, and something else stark, beyond even her age.

She is no longer wearing her bright red robe.

You come back up to her face to find her watching you study her, her golden eyes heavier now than they were. You nod, slowly, meeting her eyes.

“You’re paying up front,” you say, and wave them all in.

Maureen drags at her invisible rope and you hear a crunching noise.

They’ve broken your roof.

You sigh, patiently, and work alongside Shell, Marlee, and Marilyn to fix it while Lucretia and Maureen hold hushed conversations in the bar room and Johann spends days playing his violin to the weird static pet in Lucretia’s usual front upstairs room. More and more often, Brad spends time up there with him. You think idly to yourself one day as you hang off the side of your inn, watching them talk through the window as you let yourself take a break from fixing the roof again, that Brad is one of those people who can get along with everyone. He’s even started growing his ponytail out.

They stay for two months, this time.

Lucretia and Maureen don’t stop having their hushed, secretive conversations, and Brad doesn’t stop spending more time with Johann than he does doing his job at the bar, but they do slowly integrate into the daily life of your inn. Shell gets used to teasing Maureen when she leaves science-y papers all over the table, and Marilyn and Marlee grow to love playing with Davenport, who is surprisingly good at creating puzzles for them, many that involve them climbing all over the inn. You think, perhaps, that the mysterious gnome was a rogue before whatever happened to him happened. But then you shrug, and move on. Not your place to speculate, and they’re kind, all of them, even Maureen.

When they leave, Brad goes with them.

You wave goodbye from the front door, Shell, Marilyn, and Marlee running after their wagon yelling good lucks and be carefuls and other farewell sentiments. Lucretia watches you for a long time, her golden eyes clearly visible even as the wagon moves further away.

You wonder when you’ll see her next.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s not for a long time, and not even in person.

No, the next time you see Lucretia is through a magical Story, when you’re deep in a fight for your life with monsters you can’t see.

You’re dual wielding bottles of bourbon, Shell having claimed the only swords and your club having long since been sanded down and used to prop up the long table in the main room. Marlee and Marilyn, using those rogue skills they got into after Davenport’s puzzles so many years ago, are leaping around the room throwing knives with surprising accuracy, considering none of you can see the monsters.

And then the green light touches you.

You see an incredible Story, flashing through your mind, of seven travelers and their lifetimes lived, their pain and love and sorrow and joy, their new spells and proficiencies and the bonds, thousands of thousands of bonds, forged among impossible fires.

You see your friend Lucretia, fighting and dying and loving her family so desperately she chose not to let them destroy themselves any longer, even when it meant destroying them herself.

You remember the Relic Wars.

You remember that Lucretia was responsible for the Bulwark Staff, the one that tempted you and almost claimed Charm.

You remember the Voidfish, breaking your roof a dozen times over.

You see the Hunger, snarling and snapping at you.

And then the blue light touches you, filling you with Song.

You shrug.

And you smile.

“Well shit,” you say, slamming down your bottle of bourbon on the head of a hissing black opal snake monster. “That sure was a jellyfish, wasn’t it.”


	7. Chapter 7

It hasn’t been long, after the near-apocalypse.

Your town didn’t suffer as much as others did. It’s far enough north of Neverwinter to be quiet, after all, far enough inland to avoid traders and pirates, not close enough to any of the major Woods to be a particular target for marauders or, gods forbid, adventurers.

Or the Hunger, as it turns out.

You’re wiping down the bar, alone tonight. Shell and the twins are celebrating another birthday or some other reason to try to wheedle a bottle from you. They might have been disappointed with the single bottle of wine, but you reminded them that you could make them pay, and that changed their tune pretty quickly.

You hum, as you go.

You never used to do that, but then, you never had such a Song to hum.

There’s a light knock at the door.

You whistle, letting the door swing open on its own to reveal a tall woman in blue and silver, her rich white hair bound back, leaning on a red maple staff that lacks any sort of magical power, world-changing or otherwise. Her golden eyes smile at you.

You smile back. “‘Lo, Lucretia,” you say quietly.

You share a bottle of wine together, red, her favorite. You mention this and she laughs wryly. “Learned that from the Story, did you?” she says.

“Don’t insult me,” you say mildly. “It was the only thing you ever drank, besides coffee.”

She laughs at that, truly laughs, and you see that brilliant, gleaming smile again. She raises her glass to you in a toast.

You shrug.

You smile.

And you raise your glass back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for coming on this ride with me
> 
> blame the tfw discord and also my own fucking brain for never letting me not take some damn goof seriously
> 
> as always, comments/kudos fuel me
> 
> thanks i love you bye!

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a goof fic: the kat everqueen adventurezone story
> 
> hope you enjoy tho!
> 
> as always, comments/kudos fuel me
> 
> thanks i love you bye!


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